


Power in the Blood

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Lust venom, M/M, Magical Bondage, St. Andrew's Cross, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Zine: Forbidden Fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Aziraphale is certain he can withstand the effects of Crowley's venom. Crowley is willing to let him find out.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 248
Collections: Volume 1: Forbidden Fantasies





	Power in the Blood

"And you're certain?" Crowley asks.

"Quite, my darling," Aziraphale says, undoing his tie.

"You won't be able to stop it once it starts," Crowley says, and maybe he's fretting a little now that it's time, though he'd never admit it.

"We'll just see about that," Aziraphale says.

Crowley can already feel the venom forming in the back of his throat, because this is a game that Aziraphale is not going to win. It's going to be incredibly delicious, and Crowley is going to savor every bite of it.

"You know what to do, then," Crowley says, holding open the door to the room in their house that only exists when one of them is in a mood.

One wall is dominated by a St. Andrew's cross, as these rooms often are. It was a topic of some debate. Crowley had his doubts; it was maybe a little too reminiscent for Aziraphale, the mark of, well, a saint. Surely it had been corrupted beyond all measure by this point, but that didn't mean that it would read as anything but a relic to Aziraphale.

So, there is a St. Andrew's cross. It isn't the only thing in the room, but what is contained within it is generally variations on that theme.

Crowley has made little in the way of sartorial changes for this event, but he never does. His shirt is a red button-down, a similar color to his hair, but everything else he wears is the same as usual. 

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale says, sounding a bit disappointed. "Do take those off, dear, you know I want to see you."

Crowley hadn’t actually realized he was still wearing his sunglasses; they're such an accustomed weight on his face even now that he forgets about them entirely. "Alright, angel, alright," he says, slipping them into his coat pocket, where they cease to exist.

Aziraphale finishes putting his clothes aside, standing there naked and unbothered by it. Crowley puts a hand on the center of his chest and walks him backwards. Aziraphale goes without complaint, letting Crowley push him until he impacts the wood of the cross. He holds his arms up, letting Crowley snap the restraints around his wrists, before he widens his stance and lets his ankles be caught too.

It's breathtaking, the way he just does it, like it's the easiest thing in the world; like he trusts Crowley so implicitly that giving him his body is nothing at all.

The only time they ever tried human restraints, Aziraphale broke them twenty seconds in. It perhaps wasn't a great idea to put a soldier of the Lord in leather with grommets, as nice as they were, but it had been worth a shot. Steel manacles would probably keep him in; the problem is that Aziraphale is no longer restricted regarding the number of miracles he can perform, and if he gets too annoyed, he'll just pop them open.

In this endeavor in particular, that's just not going to work. Instead, Crowley's buckled him in with restraints imbued with a little bit of fiendish power, some very particular sigils on the side. Aziraphale's not getting out of these without some serious demonic intervention, a thing he's not going to get until Crowley is good and ready.

"How's that?" Crowley asks, slipping a finger between the restraints and Aziraphale's wrists.

Aziraphale pulls on the restraints. "I believe they just might hold. Thank you, dear."

They're face to face, and Aziraphale has yet to look intimidated; for some reason Crowley doesn't quite mind it. It's not going to last. "You ready?"

"I've come a bit far if I wasn't," Aziraphale says, and Crowley rolls his eyes.

Crowley leans forward anyway, kissing along the column of Aziraphale's throat. Aziraphale tilts his head to the side; he enjoys such things, and it's very easy to lull him into a false sense of security. Without warning, Crowley lengthens his fangs and bites down. It's an odd sensation, as it always is, but particularly because Aziraphale doesn't technically have blood; instead he's biting into some kind of heavenly ichor, and it makes his fangs itch. Either way, he pushes back against it, letting the venom travel into Aziraphale's body. He doesn't know if it will actually take, but he can feel it set in.

Crowley unlatches and pulls away, licking the taste of Aziraphale from his fangs before letting them retract. He watches Aziraphale's reaction carefully, wanting to see how it affects him.

"That's an odd sensation," Aziraphale says.

"That's all you've got?" Crowley says, underwhelmed. "'Odd'?"

"I don't know what else to say," Aziraphale says. "It's much colder than I expected."

"Oh, yeah," Crowley says, feeling a bit stupid for not mentioning it. "It does that. Like, ah-" He snaps his fingers. "That stuff you put on sore muscles."

"You mean-" Aziraphale is in the middle of saying, but he gasps as a shudder wracks his whole body.

"There we go," Crowley says. "Hot now?"

"Yes," Aziraphale pants. "My goodness."

"Your goodness doesn't play a part in it, angel," Crowley says. 

"Hmph," Aziraphale says, because Aziraphale is the kind of person who says things like "Hmph" even when they're under the effects of lust venom.

"Just give it a few more minutes," Crowley says. "Really let it sink in. You haven't had the full experience yet."

Aziraphale wiggles a little bit. "I must confess, I am feeling quite aroused."

Crowley rubs his forehead. "Do you really have to confess it in so many words?"

"If that's too explicit for you-" Aziraphale starts.

"It was not nearly explicit enough," Crowley says. 

"If we don't have our civility, what do we have?" Aziraphale says, even though his hips are rolling, thrusting up against nothing but air.

"You're about to find out," Crowley says.

A few minutes pass, during which Aziraphale mostly sweats and wriggles. Crowley is deeply enjoying it, not because of how Aziraphale looks; he's enjoying the fact that Aziraphale has no idea what's coming. He probably thinks this is the whole thing, just a little bit of polite torture that they're going to have a laugh about. Surely this is just Crowley having a bit of fun, instead of Crowley gleefully tearing him into pieces.

Aziraphale is about to have a new revelation. 

"I'm quite finished," Aziraphale says politely, even though his breathing is labored. "If you'd be so good as to-"

"No," Crowley says. "That's not the deal we made."

"Crowley," Aziraphale whines. 

"Never should have gotten into this if you didn't want it, angel," Crowley says, running a finger through the sweat that's beaded on Aziraphale's temple. "I told you what would happen. You know exactly what you're getting."

"Please," Aziraphale says.

A thrill goes up Crowley's spine. "You're going to have to beg a lot more prettily than that."

Aziraphale's mouth sets in an unhappy line. This is exactly what Crowley expected from him; he's going to dig in his heels and refuse to beg, attempting to wait Crowley out. He's not going to be able to, but it's going to be delicious to watch him try.

"No comment?" Crowley says with a grin.

"If you won't take me down, I have nothing to say to you," Aziraphale says.

"That's a shame," Crowley says. He walks away, leaning back against the wall. "Well, I'll be over here if you need me."

Aziraphale stays perfectly still, staring Crowley down. This lasts for a minute or two, which is genuinely impressive. Then he starts biting his lip, looking desperate. One of his arms pulls against the restraints, then the other, and then he comes apart. It's like his body is working against him, writhing despite what Aziraphale would really like it to do.

The first moan bursts out of him, like he's been trying so hard to keep it in; he won't be able to, not with the venom coursing through his system, infecting every part of him, whether holy or not. Crowley has taken him over completely, made him into a messy, desperate thing, a creature of want, not a creature of Heaven.

Aziraphale keeps moaning, trying desperately to get friction that's not coming. "You know what to say, angel," Crowley says, grinning, because he is deeply enjoying this; Aziraphale just looks too goddamn good. "A few little words and I'll give you exactly what you crave."

Aziraphale makes a desperate sound and thrashes his head; it's cute that he thinks he can withstand this. It’s not the point of the exercise, but Aziraphale likes to fight. He likes it when Crowley drags him down; he loves the decadence of it, the feeling of doing something that is fundamentally wrong. It's all more hedonism, and Crowley has no problem whatsoever with indulging it.

But there's not much longer that this can go on. Aziraphale's breath is coming in short, ragged pants, his cock hard and dripping onto the floor, and Crowley is watching him with unblinking eyes, refusing to look away for an instant, to miss a moment of Aziraphale falling apart.

"Please," Aziraphale whines, finally breaking. "Oh, please, don't leave me like this."

"What is it you want me to do, angel?" Crowley says, filled with a kind of satisfaction that he'd feel guilty about if Aziraphale didn't like this so much.

"Please," Aziraphale says again. "Crowley, please."

"That wasn't specific at all," Crowley says, studying his fingernails.

"Please f-fuck me," Aziraphale says, still stuttering on the word even though he's writhing in his restraints, trying to strain towards Crowley.

"Oh, so it's like that," Crowley says, sauntering over. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

Crowley digs his fingernails into Aziraphale's hips, yanking him forward, and Aziraphale cries out. It's not comfortable, the way it makes the restraints pull at his limbs, but comfortable is not the point. Aziraphale looks amazing like this, a sweaty, shaking ruin all because Crowley wanted to see him that way, because he let Crowley use him like this.

Crowley snaps his fingers, because waiting for preparation is not how this is going to go. He has to get inside Aziraphale immediately; he hasn't been a dispassionate observer, not by a longshot. He's so turned on from watching Aziraphale that he doesn't know how he's even standing up, his cock trapped painfully in his jeans and aching for attention. His clothes disappear, and he pushes himself against Aziraphale, the two of them flush, his cock rubbing against Aziraphale's for a moment.

Aziraphale takes a ragged breath. "Yes," he says. "Yes, please, I need you so much, I'm going out of my mind."

"You're gonna get me," Crowley says, and he readjusts them and drives up into Aziraphale, buried in him all the way in one stroke. His body is like a furnace, and the heat of it around his cock is almost more than Crowley can bear. "Yeah, you needed this. Didn't you?" Aziraphale doesn't respond, so Crowley grabs his hair. "I said, didn't you?"

"I just need you," Aziraphale pants. "I need you so much I can't stand it."

"Don't worry, angel," Crowley says, pulling back only to push in harder. Aziraphale moans in satisfaction. "I'll give you everything."

Crowley fucks him fast and hard, because there's just no other way to do it. Maybe if he hadn't left Aziraphale wanting for so long, he could have drawn it out, but that's not what has happened. Watching Aziraphale come apart from his venom filled him with such an intense satisfaction that it was overwhelming; it's only because of how long they've been together and how much he trusts Aziraphale that he isn't terrified by how much he wanted to watch Aziraphale suffer like that.

"Yes," Aziraphale is panting, his body shaking with the force of Crowley's thrusts. "Yes, my love, please take me."

Crowley growls, moving faster and faster still. He can't remember the last time he was this turned on, Aziraphale's capitulation only making it better. He slips his hand between them, working Aziraphale's cock, even though he probably won't need it. Crowley just needs to do it somehow, make sure they both want this, even though Aziraphale is already begging with every fiber of his being.

"I'm- I'm close," Aziraphale says. "Please-"

"Yeah," Crowley says, kissing him. "Do it for me, angel, do it now-"

Aziraphale's head drops back, and he shouts, loud enough to wake the dead. Crowley can feel him clenching around his cock. As he does, Crowley’s struck with the thought that Aziraphale is beautiful, like this and always, and that he's luckier than he deserves.

That's the last thing he thinks before he comes, moaning as he thrusts up hard into Aziraphale, the feeling more intense than he can ever remember. Everything goes white as he spills deep in Aziraphale's body, the pleasure so immense that he thinks he'll pass out.

He comes back to himself to find that Aziraphale has passed out. Crowley pulls away quickly, waving his hands over the restraints to release them. Aziraphale almost falls, and it takes a last minute miracle for Crowley to scoop him up.

Crowley hadn't been preparing for actual unconsciousness, but he'd prepared to take care of Aziraphale. There's a nest of pillows and blankets, and Crowley lays Aziraphale down, sitting next to him. He's kind of lost as to what to do, but then Aziraphale takes a deep breath and wakes up.

"Dear me," Aziraphale says.

Crowley laughs, almost despite himself. "You okay there, angel?"

"That was remarkable," Aziraphale says, blinking owlishly.

"You liked it, then?" Crowley says, trying to sound like he's only politely interested in the answer. It stopped working on Aziraphale ages ago, but for some reason he keeps trying.

Aziraphale's brow furrows. "You know, I'm not sure," he says. "It was quite the rush, and I enjoyed the feeling. But 'like' seems like the wrong word for it."

"Seems fair enough," Crowley says, because it really is enough for him.

"Come and lie down, love," Aziraphale says, clutching at him; his hands are weak, but Crowley's not surprised. Between the effects of venom and subspace, it's a minor miracle that Aziraphale is forming complete sentences.

Crowley's about to speak, but he realizes that Aziraphale has fallen asleep. He can't really blame him; Crowley did put him through his paces. Instead he holds Aziraphale closer, so he won't get cold. Aziraphale would complain vociferously if Crowley let such a thing happen, but Crowley puts off heat like a furnace. A little skin-to-skin, and they should be alright.

Right now, Crowley thinks he's done okay.


End file.
